Life (is sweet)

Summary:

Everyone has a beginning to their stories, everyone always will. And Loki, he’s paid millions to be fucked (and he counts by the hour quarters, loves), they all know him. They know his name, he’s been on headlines, and everyone who has the money, they. They want some, they want some, and they want themselves some Loki. And Loki, he says, sure, boys and girls, just show me the money.

Notes:

Fan-fiction’s Note: A one-shot AU in which there are no such thing as gods, or superheroes, or supervillains, and Loki is a whore for the world to use.

Warning(s): Contains a lot of harsh terms that a lot of people would be uncomfortable with, and by harsh terms, I don’t mean swear words. Swearing is honestly normal.

Work Text:

Everyone has a beginning to their stories, everyone always will. And Loki, he’s paid millions to be fucked (and he counts by the hour quarters, loves), they all know him. They know his name, he’s been on headlines, and everyone who has the money, they. They want some, they want some, and they want themselves some Loki. And Loki, he says, sure, boys and girls, just show me the money.

The first thing you’d want to know about Loki is that Loki is a child who doesn’t belong who was out to please daddy, daddy Odin Borson who owns Ass Guardian Corp. (they honestly wonder how the name got through, but it did anyway, and it seems like even a man like Odin knows how to joke, or perhaps it might have been Loki working his silver tongue) and daddy, he’ll never love Loki the way he loves Thor because blood runs thicker than not-blood, and you just don’t love strangers the way you love your own even if he pleads and will do anything for you. And Loki with his mischief and silver-tongue, what he does is rebel, rebel, rebel (Father, won’t you give me your attention?), and he does get daddy’s attention, but not in the right way (why is it that I’m always in the wrong?), never in the right way, and Odin, for him, the right thing to do is to disown Loki, but he still loves his son. He can’t do it, it’s not the kind of thing Odin does, not with his righteousness. Parents fuck you up with their love and care sometimes, and even with daddy’s attention (and not in the right ways still), Loki doesn’t stop what he does. He doesn’t need the money, doesn’t need any of it. He does it because he can do it (stop me, Father), because he enjoys it (or let the world stop me), because he has fun with it (what better way to past time than spreading your legs while pissing people off?). He likes his job, being a fucking whore for the world to use, but only if the world has the money to.

The second thing to know about Loki is that he has a kind of immortality, the kind where he’ll live on in the media forever, they’ll remember him by his ever-lasting beauty, his face, green eyes, hair slicked back, pierced ears, flawless, perfect, godlike, fingers and mouth that work through you like silk, cock just the right width and length (one size fits all), taking it up the ass like a fucking bitch, and he’s splendid at it all. They’ll remember him forever and ever through the headlines and news and stories parents won’t ever tell their children (he’s like the stories of the monster they scare their kids with) and videos and footages (if you can find them, Loki doesn’t do films, porn’s only for those who has lost all hope, says he) and everything you don’t even have to seek. Think of his name(s) alone and, darlings, you’ll know it all.

Whores, they can be bought by the dozen and cheap because some, they just want the sex, some, they just want quick cash, it doesn’t matter, it’s what they do. Being a whore, it’s easy to do, take your clothes off, spread your legs, or don’t spread your legs (get on your knees). It’s an easy job that anyone can do, you’ll just have to look for the right customers, you’ll just have to look fine and sometimes, you wouldn’t even have to. But these jobs, there’s always a risk (robbed, stabbed, raped, killed). And Loki, he’s smart enough to protect himself from all of it. Whores you get off the streets, or at brothels, or at escort agencies, you don’t exactly play by their cards, their rules. But Loki, you play by his cards and his rules. No, you can’t talk your way into anything at all. He’s the one with the silver tongue.

One of the reasons why he’s so wanted is because he’s that talented, and everyone wants him, everyone wants to get into his pants, and yeah, sure, you can have the money and you can pay him, but Loki, making that kind of money, and not even needing it, he does his job leisurely, he picks the amount of customers he sees a day, he picks you. You want Loki, darling? Put your name on the list, and no, love, you can’t set a time, you can’t set a day. It’s Loki who picks who and when he wishes to see, sweetheart, and it doesn’t matter if you’re willing to pay more, briberies just don’t work like that, not with someone who already has the money. There’s a reason why everyone wants him so badly, and everyone plays by his rules, because when you want something you can’t have, you only want it more.

When you leave your name, you leave your contact, you leave your picture, you leave your health records, you leave your address (actually, don’t bother about that, you’ll have to find him, he’s not interested in that shit house of yours, not even if it’s cost you by the billions to get it done), you leave what you’re not okay with during sex. Loki enjoys everything because the smart ones are the ones who open up to more ideas, the smart ones are the ones who want to try everything. And Loki, even though he knows just exactly what he likes, he likes to experiment. So when he says leave what you’re not okay with, you better list every fucking thing down or you’re in trouble, but then again, Loki doesn’t like the picky ones.

You see, Loki’s a specialist at everything; giving, receiving, foreplay, the play itself, the play with other things, everything, and even sharing (if you must know, double-ended dildos do exist for a reason and Loki does have both a cock he can put into something and an ass something can be put into). So as long as you pay him, two million every fifteen minutes, eight million an hour, per person (mind you), he’ll do you whatever fucking way he pleases. You wouldn’t even have to ask twice (well, maybe, if you catch his drift).

But there are those people, really, who pay just to pleasure them instead of getting pleasured themselves. Some people, they says it’s weird, but who are they to judge? Sometimes, we all do things a little differently. Personally, I eat my pizza starting from the crust. Problem?

If you must know, Loki has something else everyone will remember him by, the way he dresses, the way he speaks, the way he moves, they’ll remember him for the millenniums to come. He’s a star, the best of the best, the brightest of them all. They’ll always, always remember him. So here’s his other form of immortality.

Loki’s the type to do what he wants, so he dresses the way he wants to dress, and the people, they don’t have a say on it, they’re too blinded by their love for him. They love the way he wears an unbuttoned black blazer over an emerald t-shirt tucked into black jeans tucked into ankle-high black boots, they love the way he wears a buttoned blazer over an emerald shirt tucked into black dress pants worn over black Oxfords with gold laces, they love the way he wears an emerald scarf around his neck over a black V-necked long sleeved t-shirt over black leather tight jeans tucked into mid-calf high black boots, they love the way he always wears a golden wristwatch, they love the way he sometimes wears tiny golden hooped earrings, they love the way he sometimes leave his ears bare, they love the way he dresses, and they love everything about him. And he knows that green and black and gold are his colours.

So the other reason as to why Loki is such a star is because he doesn’t need to wear things like make-up to look the way he does (have you seen those girls on the streets? I mean, Christ they’re worse than clowns). He’s an idol to the girls and even to the guys, eyebrows so delicately arched, eyelashes thick and long at its most ideal, eyes their hypnotising colour of green, green, green, nose pointed just right, lips thin and pouted (looking perfect to the men, mouth wrapped around cock after cock). They can see this, they can all see this because all the media is about these days is high definition; clear and proudly shown down to the every pore. You can see every damned thing now, even the foundation on people that sets a different colour tone. You can’t hide your face behind layers and layers of make-up like you used to, not when it comes to the news and TV (you think they’ll all smooth your pretty faces for you? Oh, sweetheart.), this isn’t fantasy, not in Loki’s line of work, it’s reality, and people don’t want to be lied to when it comes to things like that. They want honestly, they want the truth as much as they’d rather be lied to. They want to see your flaws, they want to make fun of your flaws, or they’ll want to love you for it. And the media, the newspaper, the news, they all love Loki. The cameras love Loki. They all love Loki.

The media can be scary, everything can be scary. The media, they want to create exact replicas of Loki through toys (they want his cock in rubber, they want his asshole in rubber), put up on the selves, come here, buy one, buy all, displayed for the world to use. The media, they’re willing to pay him by the billions for him to let them model his cock, for him to stick his ass out for the cameras to take picture perfect photographs of, they want to make toys out of him in every great fucking detail, the pink, blue, brown, red, purple, orange of his skin, every bump of his veins and moles, right down to the fucking amount of body hair he has (impossible, really, but people can dream). The media, they want to sell these toys by the dozen to sex shops, groceries, departmental stores, put them up on display for people to come by and prod and pick which cock or ass is right for them, let the people choose what they want, buy it, put it in drawers of their night stands, and never discuss how Loki’s cock or ass feels today because they all will know, and the whole world would only know that if. But Loki knows he doesn’t need things like that to keep his name going on forever, and we all know that no one would ever be able to reproduce Loki so flawlessly, no, not when he seems to be every changing (some say his cock’s six inch, some say it’s nine, maybe even twelve, but they all say the same thing, that he’s perfect, perfect, perfect) and not even videos and pictures Loki lets captured by his certain visionary can get Loki right.

See, male whores, they usually take pills for their job, just to last longer, just to look bigger, it’s not about their climax, it’s about their clients, they’re supposed to put out for their pleasure. But it’s Loki we’re talking about here, whore of the month, prostitute of the year, rent-boy of the century, decade, millennium, he doesn’t need that shit, he knows self-control, he knows he himself is what the world wants. No need for blue pills to make you any better, not when you’re already perfect for the world to use.

Some people, they think that just because they’ve had sex with someone means that they’re in love with the person. Darlings, it doesn’t work that way. Sex has chemicals that fuck your emotions over if you can’t tell from your real emotions apart from once induced by the chemicals produced during sex. The three main chemicals that bend you over backwards, making them think they’re in love, would be endorphins, phenylethylamine, and serotonin. They get all these chemicals running through their brains when they hit their orgasm, and Loki, he makes damned sure to get the job done even if he teases them and has them crying for it for minutes or hours, and when he does want to do it, he can do it in seconds, an almost-god like him can achieve such things. And what endorphins do is it produces emotions of happy, happy, happy (they call that euphoria) and pleasure (well, duh, if you’re gonna happy, you’re not going to suffer from it, are you?) and it also has a calming effect. ‘Kay. And what phenylethylamine does is it fucking swamps you with feelings of bliss, attraction (see where this is going?), and excitement. So what serotonin does is it makes you friggin’ cheerful, hopeful (all rainbows and sunshine, sweeties), then comes being emotionally balanced and being content. See, it’s easy to fool them into thinking they’re in love with all these chemicals Loki’s pumping into their systems with every orgasm they climb over. Funny story? Chocolate contains all these chemicals too, well, yeah, apart from serotonin, but chocolate does contain tryptophan which your clever, clever brain can turn into serotonin. And you thought you were in love.

Girls, some girls are willing to go to crazy extents to claim Loki as theirs, like bleeding themselves out on Loki, sending thousands of mails to Loki just for his attention, faking a pregnancy, then trying to tell Loki the kid’s his. Loki can’t be lied to because Loki knows a lie when he hears or sees one. Besides seeing through lies, Loki always plays it safe, wears two condoms. A coloured one inside, a flesh toned one out, so he knows that when he sees a different colour, the first safe’s broke, and he knows. He’s not the kind to make mistakes (unless it’s on purpose) and it’s better to play it safe anyway, people aren’t quite worth it.

Loki plays by favourites, and as far as anyone knows, there’s only been two these days. One goes by the name of Leah, the other one, well, everyone knows him by the name of Anthony Edward Stark, but they call him Tony or Mr Stark instead, and they say he’s a fucking brilliant genius, really, if he wasn’t so crazy. He took over his father’s company (Stark Industries, and all they do is build those technology bullshit; cars, computers, televisions, watches, phones, and none of those weaponry crap because that was left for another company to do, another company with a name that had something to do with asses) at the age of seventeen, and in just a year, he broke the records of whatever his father had managed to make in his prime, earning the company billions by the second. The funny thing is, nobody had ever expected that out of him, they all think he’s crazy, they all call him crazy, getting a glow in the dark tattoo on his chest, they don’t know what the symbol means, he won’t explain, and he never seemed to give a fuck on how dangerous it was, fluorescent ink in your chest (phosphor right there, what glows in the dark needs those stuff, the way a junkie needs his fix, and Tony, he wants it to stay, add his radioactive drugs in there, more, more, more), it’s not healthy, and you can really tell he still doesn’t care, and that he’s not really in the right state of mind (granted, he does like his alcohol quite a lot) from the way he shows up at that one Stark convention, carefully sloppily dressed in a brand new suit, tie missing, shirt wide open, showing off, showing off his tattoo. The stupid man. You know he doesn’t care, and maybe that’s why he’s one of Loki’s favourites.

The very first time Tony wrote his name into Loki’s list, he did it because he wanted to piss Thor off, because nobody ever takes away Tony’s last slice of pizza (and it had been his favourite one that day, to boot), he did it as a joke and out of childish spite (he does do that quite a lot, doesn’t he? Being childish), thinking that Loki would probably not bother with calling him at all, what with the amount of names that enter his list a day. But when Tony gets a call one fine day, halfway through a meeting from an unknown number, Tony had excused himself to take the call outside the meeting room, and what he hears is said in the most lascivious of voice, what he hears is, “Mr Stark, it seems you’ve left me something that I really want…”, and he knows, then, that he’s only just had a taste of his sweet beginning.

People with the money, people like Tony, people with the money to burn, they barely bat an eyelid when it comes to spending money, they don’t care. They won’t run out of cash, even if they’re spending his money by the millions, not Tony. To hell with savings, what’s important is between their legs (and maybe their hearts). Life’s too short to even care at all.

When they say Loki plays by favourites, he does play by favourites, for he calls Tony at least two times a week, and Tony, he spends a minimum of a hundred million a week on Loki (but please, that’s honestly nothing as compared to what he earns). At first he has a hard time explaining to Miss Pepper Potts as to how his money seems to be, and he quotes, “flying out the window the way he throws a hundred M&M’s piece into his mouth in a span of ten minutes”, but later, she finds out, she knows. But what Pepper says is nothing after she finds out, they had long agreed that Pepper would have nothing to do with Tony’s sex life, not after their first real date and Tony just wanted to bone her that night, so Pepper stays out of it. It didn’t matter that the media found out later, that Thor found out later, that Odin found out later. Tony and Loki, they’re the kind of people to do what they want. When people tell them to stop, they just soldier on with a boosted morale. They’re assholes like that.

One of Tony’s guilty pleasure when he gets his time with Loki is watching the almost-god dance, his movements so entrancing, hands running down white satin hips, belly tucking in and out ever so sensually, hips swaying side to side just to linger there from time to time, lips parted in the most subtle of smiles, tongue running over pearly white front teeth, eyes shining with amusement and wonder. And Tony will sit on the bed, Loki before him on his knees, Tony will have a glass of iced whatever he pleases in his hand, but it’ll melt away because his eyes and thoughts are all on Loki. Watching Loki dancing is Tony’s guilty pleasure, it doesn’t matter that he’s paying by the hour.

And one of Loki’s guilty pleasure with Tony, however cliché, when they’re done and done and done, is to watch Tony smoke his cigarette. He likes how Tony holds the cigarette between the tips of his thumb and index finger, the first joint of his middle finger under the cigarette as he brings it to his lips, hear the spark of the metal scratching against flint, watch mesmerised as the ignition happens, the cracking sound of the cigarette starting to burn as the fire’s brought to the cigarette, the first hiss of air intake through cigarette through lips, don’t notice the lighter being put away, watch the rise of Tony’s stomach as he lets the drugged air fill his lungs, wait for a few seconds, watch the smoke pass through his lips, sometimes through his nose, watch him flick away the ashes on the carpet, cause Tony doesn’t care, watch him smoke, smoke, smoke it till the ashes almost kiss the filter, watch him put it out, then take a new cigarette. Rinse, repeat cycle. Tony always smokes two cigarettes, and Loki will always remember that.

Tony’s honestly Loki’s favourite (forget about Leah), and Loki does play by his favourites, because Tony’s the only person who knows exactly where Loki lives, and Tony’s the only person whose house Loki is willing to go to. But the first time Loki went to Tony’s house, he had threw Tony out of the fucking window, and Tony, bleeding and all, had landed in the swimming pool. Five minutes later, Tony comes back into the room that Loki was sitting around in his tight underwear, whipped cream dribbling down his chest, tongue licking off white on fingertips, and Tony, he gets angry but doesn’t stay angry, because times like that, he welcomes the destruction (and we all know he’s self-destructive like that), can’t say no to the god with the silver tongue and taunting eyes, so Tony fucks Loki afterwards like he has something to prove.

It’s easy for Loki to make Tony angry. What he does is he tells Tony that they’ve to hurry up today because he has a client he wants to see later (watch for the silver tongue), and just by telling Tony this, Tony gets upset. Tony’s the kind of man who doesn’t like to share unless it’s for his own pleasure, and Loki visiting clients, it’s not. So when Loki tells things like that to Tony, most of the time, he’s doing it on purpose, because when Tony starts to get upset, Loki can read him like a book, and it amuses Loki so, how much Tony wants to possess him, how much Tony only wants Loki to be his, but it’s no fun that way to give in to Tony. Loki’s what Tony calls a tease.

Some people don’t believe in gods, some people think that gods own their entire lives. We live in a world filled with a thousand and one deities, free for you to pick to worship, free for you to decide what to believe in. Some people, both the ones who believe and don’t believe in gods, they live their lives with their own set of rules. They do what they want, some choose to be vegetarian, the rest of them asks why the hell they’d do that, meat is free for us to eat, animal slaughtering is already taking place, why do you bother, everything eventually dies anyway, it’s only natural to be part of the food chain and people can be stubborn fucks, everyone is when it comes to their personal beliefs. As much as everyone can be so changeable, there are just some things you just can’t ever change. Some people, they believe that gods get reincarnated, living their lives as humans because they want to, because even gods can get bored sometimes, and these gods, they’re not doing themselves a favour. Honestly, I would have better things to do than living my life as a human if I were a god. All of this, Loki tells Tony as he sprung himself on Tony’s cock. Tony growling as Loki’s nails seemingly shred the skin on his back. Loki purring Tony’s name in between sentences. Tony choking back on grunts as Loki took hold of Tony’s neck. Gods don’t do things like this, says Tony. I do, is Loki’s reply, quickening how Tony slides in and out, tightening how his fingers fitted on Tony’s neck.

There’s a secret that only Tony (and maybe Leah) knows, it’s the patch of skin on the back of Loki’s neck where it’s tattooed and coloured blue and lined with curvy blacks, and Tony asks about it all the time, but Loki with his mischievous eyes and smirk, he says it’s a secret, and Tony likes the way Loki’s eyes seem to flash red when he runs his nails over the lines protruding just.

Sometimes, Loki and Tony play catch in their little haven, running around the room, hiding behind furniture after furniture, one out for their prey, the other one escaping groping hands, wide grins on their faces, chasing, and Loki would make Tony work for it, slipping past Tony’s hands like water past spread open fingers, but he’ll let Tony catch him, both falling on whatever they’d fall on, deep breaths and all, laughter escaping their lips before they clash, stripping each other of clothes, doing the deed, rough and nasty, and afterwards, and just sometimes, “Stay,” is what Tony says (begs), and Loki turns around, giggles ringing in Tony’s ears, and Tony, he knows what Loki’s going to say. He says, “I’ll stay, darling. But only if you can afford it.”

Breathing in Loki’s ear, Tony asks: Why do you do what you do? Leaving a fresh red on Tony’s neck, Loki asks: Why does anyone do what they do? Tangling his fingers in Loki’s hair, Tony asks: Why do you answer my questions with questions? Outlining Tony’s tattoo with his tongue, Loki asks: Why do you have so many questions? Looking down at Loki with clenched jaws, Tony asks: Am I not allowed to wonder? Wrapping his fingers around Tony’s cock, Loki says: You talk way too much. Snarling openly with his head tilted back, Tony says: You like that. Flicking his tongue on the slit of Tony’s head, Loki doesn’t reply.

Everyone keeps little secrets, or just forget to mention them. For Tony, it’s him loving how Loki smells (like patchouli, like the smell of newly washed clothes, like the smell of leather, like the way he smells, like Loki) but what Tony doesn’t know is Loki (has a secret) loves the way Tony smells too, cologne masking the smell of motor oil, of sweat, of cigarettes, of the occasional alcohol, of the tangy mixture of sweet cinnamon and citrus, of Tony. But Tony suspects anyway, that Loki knows his side of the story.

The reason why they are so well fitted together is that the damaged love the damaged. They’re both men (boys) with daddy issues, both out in the world with a point to prove, both do things for their own pleasure, both geniuses in their own many ways, both able to get what they want as long as they say the word, both own the world through different means, both own each other in ways they can’t ever see.

And they both knew, that everything was going downhill from the way their bodies moved together like they were having a completely normal and domestic conversation, awfully unhurried, bodies grinding against each other, feeling at ease, learning each other properly for the first time, by the sound of soft sighs and moans, by the taste of skin, come, saliva, tears, by the smell of hair, sweat, sex, skin, by the touch of every different part soft and hard, by the sight of memorising each fold and gather and stretch of skin, and with this they’re saying, or screaming, to each other what they can’t say to each other in words. It’s not like the way it had been for them, the frantic sound of skin slapping against skin, the loud rapid banging against the headboard, or wardrobe, or dresser, or, the deafening screams and powerful grunts from the both of them, lines and marks made by fingernails and teeth and lips and fingertips left for them and everyone to see, no, it was nothing like that. From that, they both knew that everything was going downhill.

The damaged love the damaged, it’s not their fault that things like this happen. It’s not their fault that people fall in love.

After that one time, they try to turn things back the way it was, frantic, angry, and without care. Humans have a tendency to fix things back to the way it was, change isn’t something that everyone gets used to. Not everyone likes being out of their comfort zones, it makes their skin crawl the way the feeling of stick-like or feathery brushes by you and you just can’t seem to get rid of the feeling. It’s annoying, and the change that Tony and Loki both gets, it doesn’t just bug them, it drives them mad, it drives them up the wall. What they thought their fix was, was to compensate that one time with violent sex on every fucking furniture that could support their weight, using everything they could get their hands on (or their bodies alone) to hurt each other as much as they can, to wash away the feeling of those soft touches, of those blistering kisses, of those words they (didn’t) say. Things that change can’t go back to the way it was, not without yet another form of change, and it’ll always still be different, life is never easy like that; whoever the gods are (or aren’t) have made it sure that nobody has it easy. Things that change can’t go back to the way it was, that’s why humans learn how to adapt, but not everyone can accept those changes.

People like Tony aren’t ever supposed to be able to wrap Loki around their fingers, but Tony can anyway, and whores like Loki aren’t supposed to have this much power over Tony, but Loki does anyway, and Loki, he breaks Tony’s heart by saying this has all happened before over the phone. I can’t fall in love, lies (says) Loki, because that’s what he does best, and Tony, biting his cheek, he says (lies), me too, and he wonders why he’s waiting by the door with a bouquet of roses in his hands.